REVISED 8th Sin
by Zanthe13
Summary: EDxROY NONCON. gore, blood, rape, deception, greed, lust, guilt and all manner of wonderfully unpleasant things. Ed will do anything to protect his brother's secret. Anything. REVISED and CONTINUED due to popular demand. tell me if like or dislike please.
1. placere, to please

OK, due to the fact that I've had a lot of people asking me, and I actually want to, the story "8th Sin" is:

1) being revised…

and

2) being CONTINUED! hurrah!

So… uhh… well, I wasn't sure where I was actually going with it, but I'm trying to work out a plot as I go… uh…

If you don't like the direction I take it, I'll work something out. If you do like it- tell me, then I can weigh up which way was better!

Characters may get a little not-how-they-really-are, but… eh, that's kinda the point. I'll try keep them as true as I can. I've not seen FMA for a couple of years, so forgive me if I get something wrong. I'll try reference, but no promises!

That said, its not mine, I have no money, and I really like keeping lawyers away from me!

---------------

Edward Elric's lower back slammed into the paper-laden wooden desk, making him utter a sharp cry of pain.

"Quiet Fullmetal!" Roy Mustang scolded-- or rather ordered.

"I-I-I'm sor-ry" Edward stammered. "I'm j-just so... so..."

"So, what?" Barked out Mustang,

"... scared" Edward whispered,

Mustang cocked an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his face. "Scared? The great Fullmetal Alchemist? Of what?" He began to close in the space between them, each word laden with sarcasm. Fullmetal gripped the edges of the desk, his breath hitching. "Of what?" Mustang repeated. "Me?"

He swallowed hard. A softly spoken, "Yes."

Mustang smirked before reaching out to take Fullmetals' famous red coat off and draped it carelessly aside across the disarray of desk. "You have a right be. Don't you?"

Edward remained silent causing Roy to snap his eyes to the younger alchemists face. His hand snatched up his jaw firmly. "I said,_don't you?"_

"Yes," Fullmetal replied shakily.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... Tasia... sir..."

He smiled wickedly. "Well not to worry... I'll be gentle. Just like last time..."

Before Fullmetal even had a chance to blink, his shirt was ripped off his delicate frame, and Mustang's tongue was taking on a life of its own, thrusting into the younger boys' warm mouth. Quickly catching on, Edward began to undo Mustang's shirt, which soon pooled to the floor. Their body heat ignited once they touched, with a startling contrast to Edward's low body temperature due to his automated limbs. Roy moved his hands behind Ed to place a firm grip on his ass while continuing the possessive assault with his mouth.

Mustang was the first to grow firm, a feeling that could be recognized through the thick fabric of the winter uniform trousers. He pushed himself closer to Edward, ravishing his mouth with a few lustful, demanding swipes. His member was beginning to ache now; he needed some kind of relief. An idea struck him and he quickly broke his and Fullmetal's feverish kiss. Fullmetal reached for him once again but Mustang refused his touch instead undoing his pants.

"On your knees, _Alchemist_." he spat the prestigious title as if it was the words commonly used on the lowest whore. He smiled at the comparison- the fearless Fullmetal as his willing, submissive bitch.

Without hesitation, Fullmetal dropped to his knees like a faithful servant. A wide smile of satisfaction filled Mustangs' face once he felt Ed's tongue begin to glide down his stomach, swirling around his navel. He pulled Mustangs' pants lower beginning to reveal his 'V'. He kissed each of his hipbones before yanking his pants down to his ankles. Mustangs' erection stood tall through his white boxers. Fullmetal's apprehension grew as he pulled them down as well, the worry coiling in his stomach like a poisonous worm.

Edward stared on in astonishment at all the intensity of feeling he had managed to work up in the older man. Mustang looked down on him, his eyes impatient, wanting, lusty.

"Go on then... _Now_."

He refocused on his colonel's member, taking a hold of it gently to place the slitted tip into his mouth. Slowly, he slid his mouth down to the base-making Mustang hiss and moan in pleasure. As Fullmetal went back up his teeth accidentally scraped the sides of Mustangs' throbbing and needy cock.

"Dammit!! Watch it with the teeth!" Mustang yelled as he pulled Fullmetal up by his long blonde hair to look at him.

"S-s-s-sorry, Tasia," Fullmetal apologized quickly, eyes downcast. The perfect submissive.

Mustang held up a hand, silencing him instantly. "Complete 'O', you understand?"

Fullmetal nodded helplessly. Mustang pushed his head down aggressively making him nearly gag but he wouldn't dare throw up here. Especially not on the Tasia, Roy Mustang, for there would surely be consequences, severe repercussions... his brother did not deserve the fate he would get was this arrangement not a success...

He quickened his pace as he let his head bob, working out Mustangs' length vigorously and with a complete 'O' shaped mouth like he had been ordered. Edward gripped Roy's balls from underneath, massaging them with his flesh hand as fast as his mouth was moving. Mustangs' throaty moans echoed off the walls of the large office, muffed by the books and carpet slightly. He was beginning to near his peak. His hands weaved their way through Fullmetals' hair giving light tugs that soon turned into rough pulls. Edward had long ago lost his hair tie. In fact, it was probably still by the couch...

"Faster, Fullmetal. I plan on cumming before the New Years."

Ed took it upon his wishes, thrusting his mouth down on Mustangs' erection as quickly as possible. He removed his other hand from his balls and began moving it up and down Mustangs' length while he paid extra attention to his tip. He blew out hot air every so often making Roy weak in the knees, leaving him sagging against the cluttered desktop. He began to thrust himself into Edward's mouth, producing a guttural sound. Mustang's moans of relief as he exploded were music to Elric's ears. He turned his head to spit but Mustang grabbed him by his golden hair once again and lifted his chin up.

"Swallow," he commanded.

Edward shut his eyes tightly as he let the warm fluid glide down his throat, slimy, sour and salty. Mustang nodded, obviously satisfied with him. He beckoned Fullmetal to stand and to strip himself. He did without so much as a complaint. He was exceptionally thin and -in Mustangs' eyes- perfect for an easy domination. There he stood, vulnerably naked as a newborn child, yet what he was about to endure was far from innocently sweet. Mustang stalked towards him resembling a predator. Just by looking at his physique, Ed could tell Roy was comfortable in himself. Their eyes locked onto each others- reflecting in one, lust; the others, fear; and finally a bitter resignation. With no words being said, Mustang grabbed Fullmetal by the shoulder and spun him until he was bent over the paper-strewn desk. There was a pause of silence followed by Fullmetals' loud gasps as Mustang entered him, hard, unprepared, from behind. He held one hand on Fullmetal's shoulder while the other rested firmly on his hip. He pounded swiftly each time catching Edward off guard.

Edwards hand was sliced open by a discarded letter, the crisp new paper cutting through soft, previously unblemished skin. He could do no more than watch the few, scattered droplets of blood dribble silently onto the table, mirroring the split skin from behind him, red rivulets racing to the floor. He prayed there would be nothing stained by it. It would compromise Alphonse in ways he would not dare to think of...

Mustang throbbed inside of him; gripping his shoulder so tightly it started to bruise. He stopped momentarily to brush the hair out of his eyes. Before Edward knew it, Mustang was slamming back into him. He leaned him over until Edward was slouched over the desk taking in his thrusts with a bitten lip, already red from the demanding colonel's actions. Roy grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up, chest to back, causing him to arch painfully. Mustangs' hand left Fullmetals' hip and moved it to his front to begin jacking him off.

Fullmetal let out strangled moans, the pleasure becoming all too great, as the shame of this action killed him a little more inside. Beads of sweat were beginning to glisten off his pale neck. Instinctively Mustang flicked out his tongue and licked his skin, the rough tongue sending an unwanted rush through Elric. He leaned Ed over once more, now grabbing both sides of his hips. He began to work aggressively, putting all of his strength into each thrust, shaking the table, and not to mention Edward, viciously. Mustang moved his hands from his sides and moved them over Ed's, which were clawing at the desk, slowly oozing fresh blood still. His hips continued to work quickly as he leaned over the younger male.

He was close and the tightening around his cock told him that the elder Elric brother was too. He picked up magnificent speed, running in and out of Edward until he heard that final cry of release, which elicited from both of them in unison. Mustang slumped over an exhausted Fullmetal, their breathing heavy and choppy. Mustang stood moments later to slide out of Ed, knocking a sheaf of papers to the floor. He silently began to dress still eying the rigid body that lay completely spent on the work desk.

"You will want to get out before Hawkeye returns"

Fullmetal slowly rose from the desk, his legs wobbling as he retrieved his clothes, his hair spreading a light curtain, shielding his eyes. Roy was dressed in no time flat, casually smoothing out his hair and fixing the collar of his own shirt before walking over to Fullmetal. A document file, the only one unsettled from the desk, was placed solemnly in his hands. A brief glance, a dazed nod; Mustang turned away, brushing dust off his slightly ruffled jacket- then he paused, slowly came to face Fullmetal and- ignoring the flinch- grasped Elric's hand. Edward gazed at his metal palm to see a single lock of his own hair, tangled around his hair-tie.

"I told you I'd be gentle."

With that, Mustang dismissed his –whore- -victim- -fuck- _subordinate_ for another day, confident that he would return at the end of the latest mission- bruised, battered, covered in casts and linen strips, but he would fulfil his duty. And it was so much easier to hide the lesson he had planned for the next rendezvous- mixing pleasure and intended pain- when his, ah, _student_ already came with bandages on him. An extra cut here, a burn mark there- explained away by a tough missions explosion or fight.

---------------

end chapter 1.

weeell... I've done better, done worse... please tell me if you think this is better than "8th Sin"; if it isn't, I'll take it down. But I have to have a majority vote on an option!

unfortunately, updates will be disgustingly sporadic, so please don't be mad- I've told you so...

have a pleasant day, and if you're rude I'll cry...

zan

x


	2. mater, the mother

Riza sighed, her calm exterior broken as she watched the young boy walk off, the limp as obvious as the silence the normally loud boy exuded. She knew he would never tell anyone about it, possibly for the rest of his life. He was too scarred and scared before all this. Pausing to ensure her boss was ready, she knocked on the door smartly, requesting entrance, and tried not to wince _-to cry, to throw up-_ when the smell of sex assaulted her nose. Somewhere under that heavy musk, she could almost taste the thin, metallic scent of blood.

A little part inside her broke completely. One did not just kill a man and not remember the stench of death, the miasma of loss... she could smell the death of another innocent part of the already tarnished boy in this building, this room, at the very desk she stood in front of. She blinked, having no recollection of walking there. Her hand was already raised, as if- no, with the **intention** to slap the smug smirk off his face. And it was the sight of such a beautiful face that was twisted with such evil that made her pause. His smirk widened as she hesitated. He made an embracing gesture, flinging his depraved arms wide, as the Devil would to his minions.

He thought she _loved_ him? He thought she cared for his wellbeing? He thought she would obey rules when he cast them aside so crassly? He thought she didn't know of what happened in this room, that disgusting atrocity, not ten minutes beforehand? He thought that she would not draw her arm back_- like this and let the echo of the deafening crunch of his nose breaking, watch the crack of his cheekbone as it fractured, enjoy the soft sound of flesh being bruised and injured, revel in the silence as his lip was ripped open from the tension of the stretched and purpling skin... _she hadn't even noticed, in this dream-like state, that her wrist had been launched at him in an awkward angle, spraining it. She hadn't thought much of it _when her adrenaline-fuelled anger raised the gun against her superior_. She hadn't blinked _when she shot at his crotch- perfectly aimed to take out only his monster, and leave the beast in control, alive_, in pain. She hadn't flinched at the blood and the wails and the pain that saturated the air around them. She hadn't cared for this beast of a man since he had first asked **him** –her darling, her boy- into the office to "check the details" of his next mission, shortly after he passed the examination.

He was her son from the few months before that. She had adopted them both into her cold, strict heart. She could never have children, this fact she was resigned to. Infertility- and her job- meant she had no ability with children. The care and time and affection required to raise a decent member of the public was just something she could not offer. But Edward and Alphonse, oh, they understood this and still looked at her as their mother. The Alpha female. She praised them after every successful mission, when Edward was too low after the Colonels criticisms. She held him when he cried in his sleep, and thrashed against an invisible, untouchable, indefeasible enemy.

On reflection, there should have been eight Sins, she ruminated as she left the Colonels office, shoes and trousers and jacket and face and hair and soul splattered with blood, Regimented strides echoing down the now-empty corridors.

The eighth Sin.

Guilt.

It plagued the boy, preyed upon every failure he had ever had. And, oh- even the situations he couldn't control were guilt-ridden too.

Striding officiously down the hallway, and with the fingertips of her left hand caressing the wall, Riza left a trail of red from her black boots and red hands. Turning a corner, she paused, removed her hand from the wall and placed her palm perfectly flat, leaving a well formed palm-shape in congealing blood. It reminded her of the times she had, as a child, breathed on glass and left the same- though smaller and more innocent- hand-print. Starting from her reminiscent daze, she completed her journey to the lower levels of filing, and sought out the document she would need- the CR-055 file.

No-one but late night secretaries and cleaners were present in the office block- it was a Thursday- heading to evening, meaning that the heavy-duty cleaning crew would only visit for a full-out operation on Friday, early morning. She had time enough for this.

Snatching up the form, she quickly returned to her own office, not five meters from the writhing lump of bloodied flesh that was the still-living monster named Mustang. She contemplated his state internally, judging that he had- oh, maybe two hours to fully bleed out and die, if she didn't prolong his life, his suffering. It could wait until she had finished the document, reporting sexual harassment, reporting intimidation, reporting… rape.

Oh, how taboo… men in other offices would whisper snide comments, threaten him, call him a whore, say he begged for it, they might even go so far as to-… no, she would make it out in her own name, claim it was her that he bent over a desk, say it was her who he ritually humiliated and her who broke. It would be so easy- Havoc and Armstrong had independently asked her recently if anything was wrong. Hughes had taken to following her during work hours, as if to ascertain whether she was getting trouble from rowdier males in the patriarchal system. She had become more quiet, more introspective, since the discovery of the evil in her offices. a silent anger that caught her at odd moments, a primal scream caged in her throat that burned, and the fire in her eyes that danced when she was at shooting practice. His face, over and over and over... deep breath, Riza. Now is not the time.

Completing the form, she signed her name, and watched the ink dry. Did she really want to do this? If her duplicity was discovered… no. She would, for her boys, her babies. It was well known that she had a soft spot, but no-one could ever know the truth. Edward Elric's life was more important than her own. She had lived, and reached her goal. The Elric brothers had so much to do, so much to fulfill.

This thought in mind, temper cooled and a purpose of steel, she prepared too re-enter the office she had known so well, housing the serpent who hid behind a dead flower…

-------------

ok, who caught my references to the Bible? come on... the last one was so very obvious, but when I read it back again (I have no proof reader, I do this entire thing alone) it made NO SENSE! So I dumbed it down a lot... poo...

please say what you think, but I cant actually make you... I mean, if I could I'd stand over you with a whip until you gave me valid opinions, but as it is, you might find that kinky or just scary... ;; hehehe...

as ever, have a great day, and I hope I don't get you down!

Zan

x


	3. exspecto, waiting

Hi-ho, faithful readers. and the not-so-faithful too, because discrimination is nasty. XD hahaha! its 3 am, and I'm meant to get up and work for ten hours straight in about... four hours? pfft... don't wanna... grumbles 

well, developments in the story. I'm not so happy with this chapter, but I did just write it right now, (too many "right" sounds in that sentence, which makes it wrong, and if you laughed at that, you're actually either really drunk, or have a pathetic sense of humor. Or both.)

uh... what was I talking about...? who cares, get on and read it! Sorry if Alphonse comes over slightly MPD, he's meant to. 

and sorry that its kinda shortish... ;; I'll get longer ones out if I can. 

multiple- personality disorder. Is commonly confused with Schizophrenia, but they are different disorders, so its WRONG! hahahaha!! 

Alphonse was sitting with his back against the wall, the shell of his armoured body protecting the vulnerable soul seal that entrapped him in the sense-deprived casing, the moon glinted eerily off his helmet. As was his wont, he philosophised, rather than endlessly tidying the small and modest bunker granted to his brother as part of his alchemy contract. There was no sleep- no blessed break from consciousness. Studies into mental welfare that had roped poor souls into the experiments had no reprieve to digest information and step away from it all in the form of sleep for longer than seven days and nights, suffered devastating mental trauma and eventually lost sanity. 

Alphonse was puzzling _where_ he got that random tibit of information from in the back of his mind, even as his main focus was on how he could still function as a rational being after years of sensory isolation and no mental rest. He mostly put it down to adaptation when he was younger- his young soul altered its needs to suit the strange situation he found himself in. Or maybe bound souls were like ghosts and only needed a few, sparse things. It didn't really matter, either way. It was partly the… _fault_, though that was the wrong word for it, of Edward. A little more planning, a little less ambition… Oh, what he could have _been_! - But, what is done, is done, and it was a far cry until the quest to restore each was fulfilled. What did it matter, when past transgressions were being atoned for now?

He was waiting.

Edward was late. Edward was twenty minutes late. Edward _hated_ being late. People could be depending on him to turn up on time, and Edward prided himself on being there _on time, in time, every time_. Late was rarely a luxury they had, and when it was, it was often never used. 

A clock in the distance tolled out the minutes, reluctantly splitting the silence in a tone of near-apology that that _was_ the exact moment that it really was, and that Edward was _still_ not home. Alphonse stared at the wall, thinking deep thoughts, not moving, except to dart intangible red eyes to the small clock on the low bedside table on Edwards side of the room. There was no furniture on Alphonse's- what did he need a bed he couldn't sleep on for? What use was a cupboard he could put clothes he didn't require in? Instead, he made sure that Edward could have the best mattress they could afford (admittedly it was still abysmal but it was a step up from the rotting straw-filled sacks the army passed off for bedding), and at least Edward used it- not often enough as he should perhaps, but it nonetheless served its purpose.

Alphonse was waiting.

Edward was now nearly an hour late. The time for waiting was nearly over. The time for looking was about to begin. In nine minutes and 37 seconds, Alphonse was going to get up and look for Edward. He was probably slaving away by candlelight in the library, even though it was closed at this hour- nothing should be open right now except sleazy bars and houses of ill repute. Eight minutes 21 seconds. 

The air was still. The gibbous moon shone a doubtful light, not crisp and clear, but fuzzy, serving to make the rooms' shadows murky and arcane. Alphonse waited, patient as a rock, mind whirring away with multiple hypothetical situations of Edwards whereabouts - and reasoning - behind his mysterious absence. 

Four minutes 52 seconds, and there is a shuffling from the left of their shared base – awkward steps, muffled and unequal, the weight of each is different, and the texture of the sound is that of Edward in pain. Alphonse stands, sets his mind aside and shines the personality of younger-brother-Alphonse to project outside of his head. A personality "switch" was what allowed him to sit for hours without becoming bored, and going from studious-and-pensive-Alphonse to enthusiastic-and-outgoing-Alphonse was often a smooth transition. But right now, it was time to greet is Edo-kun.

He walked to the door, briefly noticing the absence of any more footsteps, but registering the heavy breathing about four foot from the left of the front door- Edo-kun had obviously paused for breath, or the pain was getting to him… but, it couldn't be the latter, as they had returned from the previous insane mission with relatively few injuries… _unless_ that idiot of a brother was trying to hide his suffering to prevent what he would perceive "undue stress" for everyone else… Open the door, look into his face- yes, pain graces his features, before he realizes who he's looking at, and Edo-kun's face slams shut, no emotion leaking through that visage, nothing from that face except bruised rings under his eyes, and tousled hair, clumsily tied. He doesn't even look stubborn, just… blank.

His hair… is _unusual_. The signature plait was missing, and in its place was a bedraggled, untamed mess- tangles fell into his face, shielding high cheekbones and trailing down his neck, tickling collarbones. Edo-kun never wears his hair like this- this is worse than his bed-head looks on particularly turbulent nights, when things chase him in his dreams and maliciously haunt his visions. Nothing is said between them, but as they stand there in silence, the air thick with Al's unsaid questions and Ed's non-answers, Edward collapses- knees giving way to a timid tremble that violently shakes him so quickly from his feet that not even Al's increased reaction can quite save him from landing on his ass. but suddenly, thats no important, because the concrete underneath him is darker- droplets of... water...? rain? from the clear sky! No. Then what...? _Tears? _from who? theres no one here but Edward and... 

He's..._crying_.

OMG! whoa, the angstism is gnawing at my very **SOUL**! snigger

wonder what I'm gunna do next... I'm making this up as I go, flying by the very seat of my skintight jeans, and if I try and see where this is going, its obviously going to fail. so... make it up as I go! 

review if you want, but I sure as hell aint gunna beg you- and, lets face it, are you as bored as me reading threats and incentives trying to get you to waste time and actually feed-back to the writer? 'cos I am... seriously, you get all kinds of shit written by people in the hope you'll press that review button- "If you don't I'll get you"or "have a virtual cookie if you review"... tch. 

Anyways, up to you. it'd be nice, but I've got better things to do than degrade myself by asking a lot. like sleep, which is what I should be doing right now...

'till next time! 


	4. frater, the brother

He's crying…

He's crying…

Al stops in shock. A gasp is the only sound that is heard, because Ed doesn't even breathe as wetness runs down his face, emotionless and empty. There is nothing going on as far as Al can see, and he is confused- and terrified. What could cause this pinnacle of strength, this epitome of fearlessness- this tiny body who had suffered so much in and out of the line of duty, borne the pains of attaching artificial limbs to half himself and struggled through disappointment after disappointment and never once let more than gasps and sputtering past his lips throughout such tortures, but… a slip like that can cause tears to well up in his unusual golden eyes? _Never_. Something more was behind this…

Alphonse leans down, and collects the crying… child -? Is he now no more than a child? – in his arms, metal and uncomfortable though they might be, are far less damaging to the body he now holds than the damp, uneven cement would be. There seems to be an awful lot of water… considering the amount of time Ed's had to cry… maybe its just dew? It is very early, after all…

Alphonse still can't comprehend that Ed- _his_ Edward, stronger than any intangible symbol or physical material- is crying.

Alphonse thinks that maybe the waiting was better - better than dealing with… _this_.

But then he remembers that if he _wasn't_ dealing with this, Ed would be somewhere else, not being cared for at all.

There really is a lot of dampness around Ed- dew, tears… something else as well. He can't feel it, the metal casing being unfeeling and thick; he can't smell it, lacking the necessary soft tissue and sense receptors; but there is a sense of wrongness about this liquid he can just see, pooling lethargically on the grey cement. Then it clicks- he's seen this before. All over the place, in nearly every journey the Elric brothers had taken, one or the other, or both, had witnessed a large amount of this shed by those who hadn't survived an encounter with something that had crushed their tiny lives.

Its blood.

Alphonse freezes as the magnitude of this truth reaches into his head, screaming and shouting in a panicking crescendo of increasing fear. Ed's blood… his arms are slick and slippery with it, though the source is still unknown. Edward was bleeding… Ed's blood, here. In Central, in the very military base that they were meant to be safe in, here- Ed's blood.

The words spiral out of control, the thoughts and connotations of such a simple little thing - **blood spreading out on cold damp cement** – Al cant bend his mind around Ed's limpness – **hair, already dishevelled, is tugged at, no answer**, _**stay with me, Ed stay with me**_ – He's pulling at him, trying to rouse a response from the shivering body _**– wake up, brother, wake up! What's happened?**_ – he's frantic now, because Ed is not waking upandthereisn'tanyonearoundtohelphimandhesscared…

Then _something_ kicks in, an old piece of survivalist instinct, and he collects the pieces of his mind in again, hoarding the shattered ruins and forms a jolting plan. Blood, blood came from somewhere. A cut, an injury. You have to bind injuries. But… its been such a long time since he had even a grazed knee, and he cant really remember pain as more than an abstract theory, let alone how to stop it… _**This is Ed,**_ is mind is screaming_**. This is Edward- help him! **_ He can deal with injuries, superficial cuts… head wounds… _**I **__**can**__** deal with this, whatever this is… **_

Al jerkily lifts the shaking boy and takes him into their shared abode, reverently laying him on the bed- Ed's bed, the only one- and slowly undresses him, careful not to move limbs too much until he can tell where the blood is coming from. Ed's eyes are still leaking tears, and his breath is clouding over his face- Al stops to look, to make sure that Ed's still alive, but he's shivering and wont stop and there is a lot of blood and he's whimpering in his sleep but what is he saying and blood why is there all this blood- no. focus. Don't think, just do.

Alphonse tears the linen and finds an ancient basin, filling it with water, and heating it to what he hopes is just over lukewarm using alchemy. The chalk circle on the floor brings an element of familiarity to him, and he panics just a little less. But its just a little, and he realises he stopped his exploration for the source of the blood, distracted by his own worry.

He cleans the skin as he finds it, carefully around the automail, and the joints seem red and swollen near the added limbs- like when they were first applied to Ed's young body. Absently he recalls something about a connection between blood flow and shock, but he discards the memory in favour for _doing_, not thinking. Edwards head is clear of injury, and he works his way down- neck, clear. Shoulders, clear. Torso, clear. Where is the blood coming from? Flesh arm, clear. Flesh leg, clear.

So, a back wound then? _**Shh, Alphonse- no thinking, remember?**_ Slowly, he turns the small boy over, and if he could close his eyes he would. As it is, he satisfies an ingrained urge to retch by merely putting a hand over his face, and turning around for a minute.

Alphonse takes back what he thought.

He can't deal with this.


End file.
